


Creating a Masterpiece

by flipflop_diva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Falling In Love, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Kissing, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Orgasm, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: It was the worst thing Hermione Granger could imagine. A six-month long project working side-by-side with one Pansy Parkinson. How was she ever going to make it through?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 170
Collections: Heart Attack Exchange 2020





	Creating a Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vendettadays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vendettadays/gifts).



Hermione exited the Minister’s office, her mouth still slightly agape. He couldn’t possibly be serious, could he? This had to be a prank … maybe one that Ron or Harry put him up to? They would find this all too amusing.

But no, they would never do that. And Kingsley Shacklebolt wasn’t particularly known for his sense of humour at work. But yet he knew all her feelings on this, and he was still insisting. How could he be serious?

Hermione looked back at the closed door of the Minister’s office, a curl of nausea settling into the bottom of her stomach, the entire conversation she had just had replaying in her mind in vivid detail.

“Oh, Miss Granger, do you have a moment? I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”

“Of course, Minister.”

“I have an important project coming up, and I think you are just the person I need to help me with it.”

Hermione had felt herself beam at the minister, already sure she could handle anything he threw at her. If only she had known, had taken a breath, had told him she was too busy with her other work …

Kingsley had led her down the hall and into his own office, a warm and comfortable place that felt nothing like one would expect an office belong to someone of his stature to feel. He gestured to the comfortable leather chair in front of his desk, and Hermione took a seat, positioning herself on the edge, back straight, hands in her lap, looking what she hoped came off as attentive and eager.

Kingsley took a seat behind his desk and leaned forward, his hands clasped together, peering at her intently.

“I’m sure you have heard, Miss Granger, of the International Confederation of Wizards that is to be arriving six months from today?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, Minister. Everyone knows how important this is. Wizards from countries who have never participated have agreed to send their delegates. It’s a most excellent time to try and sign treaties between our countries for the betterment of magic everywhere.”

Kingsley nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “And one of the most important events of the week will be the International Confederation Gala, to be held the last night the wizards are in town. This event will serve not only as a fun celebration where wizards from all over the world can mingle together but as a way to wrap up a week of ideas, discussion and thoughtful conversation and really drive home the point that an official treaty with us is the best way to move forward in today’s world.”

“I’m sure it will be grand,” Hermione said.

A smile grew on Kingsley’s face. “I should hope it will be!” he boomed. “Because I am putting you in charge!”

For a few moments, Hermione just sat there, the words floating in the air and swirling around her head, the weight of them not yet sinking into her body, her brain not quite processing what had happened. 

But then it hit her, and her mouth parted slightly and her eyes widened as she looked at Kingsley.

“Me?” she said almost tentatively. “You want me to plan the gala?” Kingsley’s smile didn’t fade, and Hermione felt her confidence build. “I would be honoured, Minister! I won’t let you down. This will be the event everyone has been talking about.”

“I do hope so, Miss Granger,” Kingsley said. “And of course you won’t need to handle everything on your own. You and Miss Parkinson will be working very close the whole time.”

Again, the words floated in the air, once again not entering Hermione’s brain for a few seconds, and when they did she blinked in confusion at him.

“Sir?” she said.

“Your co-chair,” Kingsley said, like this was obvious. “This is not a job for one person, Miss Granger, and I think the two of you will be perfect together.”

It still wasn’t quite settling.

“Pansy Parkinson?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, Pansy Parkinson.”

“But,” Hermione started and then paused. The Minister had given her an assignment. She couldn’t very well refuse, nor would she want to. But the idea of working on a months-long project with Pansy Parkinson of all people…

“Can I ask why?” Hermione asked.

“Why, Miss Granger?”

“Why I need a co-chair. I think you know, Minister, that I am quite capable of handling this event all on my own. I know I am up to the task, and I will do all the research and work needed …”

“Ms. Granger.” Kingsley interrupted her, his voice solemn.

Hermione paused and looked at him. “Yes, Minister?”

“I know you are quite competent and able to do anything I ask of you, but, Miss Granger, this event is for two people, not for one, no matter how hard working you may be. And you Miss Granger have the intellect and the determination to pull it off, and Miss Parkinson has the connections and the charm to elevate it to the next level.”

“But …”

“There are not buts. This is settled. If you do not agree, I can find another person to chair with Miss Parkinson.”

Hermione nodded. “No,” she said quickly. “It’s fine.”

“Okay then.” Kingsley Shacklebolt gestured to his office door. “You may go then. I expect you two to report to work on this project on Monday morning.”

“Yes, Minister.” Hermione got to her feet. “Thank you for this opportunity, Minister. I won’t let you down.”

“I expect you won’t Miss Granger. I’ll see you Monday.”

\--

Ron stared at her over his third glass of Firewhisky. “He’s really making you plan an entire event with Pansy Parkinson?” He shook his head, as he had been doing all night long since she had first told him and Harry the news. “I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

“He’s thinking he doesn’t care about school rivalries,” Harry commented, sipping much slower on his own Firewhisky.

“As he shouldn’t,” Hermione said. “But Pansy Parkinson. Of all people.”

“You’re as professional as they get, Hermione,” Harry told her. “Just go in there, do your job and don’t worry about anything else.” He shrugged. “Perhaps she’s changed. Draco insults me far less these days than when we were at Hogwarts. Maybe this will be the same.”

Hermione felt a tiny smile break over her face. “Yes,” she allowed. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“And if he’s wrong,” Ron said. “Then we’ll have to meet up every weekend and drink some Firewhiskys and feel better.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We do that every weekend already.”

Ron slammed back the rest of his drink and grinned. “I know!” he said. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

\--

Monday morning came much faster than Hermione would have liked. She groaned as Crookshanks jumped on her head just seconds after the hooting sound of her alarm filled the room.

“Do you think I can say I’m too ill to make it in?” she asked Crookshanks, who seemed to raise a brow at her. She sighed. “You’re right,” she said. “I can’t do that. I’m not a coward. And I can do this. I can be a professional. I’m sure it will be fine.”

She dressed slowly, as if she could somehow put off the inevitable meeting if she did. She made sure her hair was pulled back into the chignon that Ginny had taught her to do and slipped into her most professional skirt and button-down shirt beneath her freshly cleaned and ironed robes.

“You can do this,” she repeated to herself as she grabbed her work case. “Kingsley wouldn’t have asked you to plan this if he didn’t think you could do it.”

She glanced at her clock on the mantel one last time. Almost seven. She still had three hours before she had to meet Pansy. She took a deep breath and Apparated to work.

She had hoped that time would move slowly once she got to work, that every minute would be a lifetime, but as with her weekend, time seemed to have sped up, and before she could change her mind, there was a knock on her door and she found herself saying, “Please come in.”

Pansy Parkinson opened the door and walked into Hermione’s office. She looked at once just like the girl she had been at Hogwarts and someone completely different. Her hair was the same — dark and cropped at her shoulders. Her eyes were just as dark and intense as they always were. She was dressed in black robes with a hint of a green shirt underneath.

She wore glasses now though, cute round green ones that highlighted her face. And her hair curled at the ends, softening the features of her face. On her feet were green high heels that made her legs look like they went on for days (not that Hermione was looking).

But the biggest change of all was the soft smile across her face. A friendly smile. Hermione didn’t think Pansy had ever smiled at her during all their years at Hogwarts, unless it was a mean one that meant she was about to do something cruel.

It was almost unsettling to see it now.

Pansy stopped in front of Hermione’s desk, and her smile grew a little wider. “Good morning,” she said, her tone nothing but polite and maybe even a little warm. It made Hermione wonder what she might be up to.

“Good morning,” Hermione said back, trying to make her own voice match the tone of Pansy’s. If Parkinson could fake being friendly and polite, she surely could as well. “Are you ready to do this thing?”

Pansy laughed. “I hope so,” she said. “This is the biggest project I’ve been assigned yet. I would like to think I am up to the task.” She paused for a beat and then added. “I’m glad I’m not going it alone.”

“But you’re probably not glad you’re doing it with me.” The words were out of Hermione’s mouth before she could think them through. So much for pretending.

For a moment, Pansy didn’t say anything. The smile on her face faltered, but then she seemed to almost steel herself. 

“You’re probably the smartest person in this entire building, and you never fail at anything,” Pansy said. “If I have to do my first important project with someone else, I think you’re a good choice.”

Huh. That wasn’t what Hermione had been expecting.

Pansy shrugged. “Besides,” she added, “we aren’t surly teenagers anymore.”

“No,” Hermione said. “We aren’t. We’re two professionals who have been tasked to plan the most important event of the year, and we can’t mess it up.”

“We won’t mess it up,” Pansy said, and she sounded much more confident than Hermione felt, which was a bit impressive considering Hermione thought she felt reasonably confident.

Hermione realized Pansy was still standing in front of her. She stood up from her own chair, gesturing to the conference table at the side of the room.

“Shall we?” she said. “I’ve ordered us in some food. I don’t have anything else on my schedule for the rest of the afternoon.”

Pansy turned to look at the table and then back at Hermione. “Sure,” she said. “I’m all yours for as long as you have.”

\--

The day went surprisingly well. Six hours later, Hermione leaned back in her seat and raised her hands above her head to stretch. Across the table, Pansy laced her fingers together and stretched them out in front of her.

The table between them was full of quills and sheaves of papers, stacks of books from their initial research, crumbs left over from sandwiches and chips, and an assortment of empty cups.

The paper in front of Hermione was filled with tiny, detailed notes and painstakingly detailed drawings, all done by Pansy in a rather impressive manner; Hermione hadn’t known she could draw.

She stared down now at the castle Pansy had drawn. It was not yet built, but they had agreed that a gala of this importance needed the finest location anywhere, and what could be more fine than a castle built just for the occasion? Kingsley Shacklebolt had told them there was no limit to their budget, and Pansy had even had the idea that they could auction off the castle to the highest bidder to raise money for charity at the end of the night.

“It we can pull this off,” Hermione said now, “it might go down as one of the most memorable evenings ever in the international community.”

Pansy stopped stretching and put her arms down. “Don’t say if,” she said. “We need to be confident.”

“We want to build a castle. Do you know how long it took the founders to build Hogwarts?”

Pansy laughed, the sound almost melodic, a far cry from the nasty, bitter sound she used to make. It was almost like she was an entirely different person, a thought Hermione had been having a lot during the past six hours.

“We’re not exactly going for that level of detail,” Pansy said. “And construction is a little better these days.”

“It’s still a huge undertaking,” Hermione mused. She stared at some of the other drawings, most of them rough sketches for all the possible rooms. They had agreed that everything should be themed and had settled on a true international flavor, with each room representing one of the countries present. “We’re going to have to be working practically non-stop on this.”

“Yes,” Pansy agreed. “We are. I thought you were good with that?”

“I am,” Hermione said quickly. She glanced up at the other woman. “That’s a lot of time spent together.”

“It is.”

“Our younger selves would never …”

Pansy cut in before Hermione even had time to figure out where she was going to go with that train of thought. “Our younger selves were stupid and thought what color we wore was more important than anything. Our younger selves didn’t know what life was really about. And my younger self for sure had no idea what true loss was.”

Hermione frowned slightly. She wasn’t sure if Pansy was talking about Draco — she had heard they’d had a nasty breakup about a year after graduating from Hogwarts — or perhaps her mother, who had been killed their seventh year at Hogwarts, but it wasn’t her place to ask. She just nodded, thinking over her words.

“As long as you’re okay with it,” she finally said.

“More than okay,” Pansy said. She pointed to the paper in front of Hermione. “Do you want to run our plans by the minister and get the initial approval? And then we can get together and come up with a schedule and figure out the personnel we need to get involved.”

“That sounds good,” Hermione said. “I can come to your office next time if that’s better?”

“Oh,” Pansy said, and she grinned at Hermione in such a way that it almost looked a little suggestive. “I thought maybe we could do it over drinks.”

Hermione blinked. Was Pansy Parkinson flirting …? No. She cut herself off before she could even finish the thought. What was wrong with her? This was still Pansy Parkinson.

“That would be more fun,” Hermione just said.

Pansy stood up. “Great,” she said, gathering up her stuff. “Then send me a memo when you have the approval, and we’ll set it up.” She headed to the door, opening it before turning around with one last grin. “See you, Hermione.”

It wasn’t until the door closed behind her that Hermione realized Pansy hadn’t even once called her Granger.

\--

As expected, Kingsley Shacklebolt loved their plans and gave them the go-ahead without hesitation. And as planned, Pansy and Hermione met the next night after work at a wizarding pub down the street from the Ministry of Magic.

Hermione had never been in it before, although she had passed it many times on her way into work. It was in a non-descript building set on the corner of a rarely used road. Inside, the pub was small and dark but cozy. A roaring fire in an old-fashioned fireplace took up the back corner, casting a soft glow over everything and creating a nice warmth that was in sharp contrast to the chilly air outside. A huge bar ran the entire center length of the pub, manned by an older witch in red robes that appeared to be dancing along with the fire. Beer glasses hung all around the bar, intermixed with types of beer Hermione had never even heard of.

The rest of the pub was full of wooden booths — small tables, large tables, medium tables, but all made of dark, heavy wood and surrounded by dividers that reached almost to the top of the high ceiling, giving the impression that every table was an island of its own.

Hermione realized, as she slid into a seat across from Pansy at one of the smaller tables, that each booth was surrounded by a soundproof spell, essentially blocking anyone else from hearing their conversation.

It was perfect for their purposes.

Pansy had gone ahead and ordered them drinks already. Two glasses of Firewhisky sat on the table along with a platter of fish and chips. Pansy nodded to the food as Hermione slipped into the booth and shrugged out of her heavy woollen coat.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Hermione said, snagging a piece of fish and munching on it as she pulled out her quills and scrolls of paper with all their notes. 

The booth they were in was near the back, not far from the fireplace. Pansy sat with her back to the fire, the light from the flames almost seeming to be dancing over her face and her hair, causing her eyes to almost sparkle.

It was slightly disconcerting, Hermione thought, watching her face and remembering the girl with the steely gaze and the rude scowls all those years at Hogwarts.

She shook her head slightly, pretending to be checking their notes. Pansy hadn’t given any indication of being that girl anymore at their first meeting; there was no reason to suspect anything now.

“Are you okay?” Pansy questioned.

Hermione was glad the fire and the darkness of the bar hid the warmth heating her face. She looked up and forced a smile.

“Yes,” she said. “Just a long day.”

Pansy nodded. “We can eat first,” she suggested, “and then get down to business?”

Hermione glanced at the food and then her notes and then at Pansy. Eating together without discussing work?

“That sounds good,” she found herself saying. A moment later she was lifting her glass to mimic Pansy and they were clinking them together.

“A toast to the best project the Ministry has ever seen,” Pansy said, and Hermione found herself smiling for real.

“That,” she said, “I can drink to.”

\--

They worked late into the night, filling scroll after scroll with lists of things to do and people to hire and details to work out and exact dates for each and every thing. Hermione was in her element, organizing and researching and trying to get down every possible detail, and to her surprise, she found that Pansy was equally as detailed and full of ideas Hermione hadn’t even thought of.

Hermione tended to be more cautious in her planning and Pansy more ambitious, and together they found a balance that seemed not only realistic but also left room for more details to be added if the time allowed.

The plate of fish and chips had long since vanished, as had a plate of treacle tarts, and their drinks had been refilled a few times, but still Hermione looked up in surprise as the old witch kindly told them the pub was closing in five minutes.

“Five minutes?” Hermione asked in surprise. “How can that be?”

The old witch smiled at her astonishment and took the money Pansy handed her and shuffled back to the cash register to get her change.

“I could have paid,” Hermione told Pansy.

She shrugged. “You can get it next time. It’s all expensable anyway.”

Outside, the weather had turned even colder than when Hermione had entered the bar, and she felt like icicles were going to form on her face at any moment.

Pansy gestured down the street. “I go this way,” she said.

“Oh.” Hermione looked at her with surprise. “You don’t just Apparate?” 

Pansy shrugged. “Sometimes it’s nice to be out in the world.”

Hermione nodded. She had found herself walking to work a lot lately, too, enjoying the time it gave her to think and to watch the Muggles around her, but her friends always scoffed at her when she told them.

“I’m that way, too,” she said now. “If you don’t mind me walking with you a way?”

“Not at all.”

Hermione pulled up the zipper of the heavy jacket she had bought at a Muggle store a few weeks before. She couldn’t very well walk the streets of London in her cloak. Then she cast a spell to spread warmth to her fingers and toes.

Pansy was dressed in a long cloak that was thicker than most people wore and could very well pass for a long winter jacket that many Muggles wore. On her hands were green gloves that matched the green boots on her feet.

They headed out, their heads bowed to protect against the wind, talking a little more about their project and what they most needed to accomplish in the next week.

After a few blocks, Pansy stopped and pointed down a side street to a small building nestled between two Muggle houses with overgrown grass.

“This is me,” she said.

Hermione stared at it. If she was honest, she would have imagined Pansy to live in a mansion similar to the one she had most likely grown up in. She knew Pansy’s mother had been killed during the Second War, but as far as she knew, her father still had all his riches. It was hard to imagine someone like him — who she always pictured a little like Lucius Malfoy — letting his daughter live someplace that wasn’t up to his quality.

Pansy must have seen Hermione’s expression because she made a face. “It’s not much,” she said. “But it’s close to work, and the people around me are nice. Besides, they don’t know who I am. Or who my father is.”

Hermione nodded. Some children of Death Eaters had had a hard time adjusting after the war, but she had never figured someone like Pansy Parkinson to be one of them. But a lot of other things about Pansy seemed to have changed, so why not this?

“It’s nice to be able to just do things on your own,” she finally said, almost wincing at how that sounded — so placating, she thought, and possibly condescending — but Pansy didn’t seem to think anything of it.

She just nodded and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yes, see you,” Hermione said.

Pansy turned around and headed down the street to her flat. Hermione watched until she disappeared through the front door before resuming her own walk home. 

Five years ago, she never would have considered spending an evening with Pansy Parkinson a good time, but Hermione knew she wasn’t the same girl she used to be. Maybe the war had changed all of them after all.

\--

The work with Pansy continued. They started meeting every morning for tea in the Ministry cafeteria, going over their plans for the day and updating where they were on all their various tasks. Pansy was in charge of all the personnel — hiring people to work on their project and making sure they were keeping to their tasks. Hermione was in charge of the other details — buying the supplies, conveying the plans, overseeing the construction and making sure they were keeping to their schedule as much as possible.

When they ran into problems, they sorted them out together, going over possible solutions and adjusting timelines and adding in new tasks as appropriate. It was almost the most seamless project Hermione had ever worked on, and that included ones with Harry and Ron.

As the months passed, she found herself looking forward more and more to their breakfast meetings and, when things got tense, more after work meetings at the same pub they had gone to the first time. The old witch who manned the bar knew them by name now and knew what they liked to eat and drink. And each time they went there, they ended up staying almost to closing time, no matter how much or how little work they had to do, and left together, walking down the street to where Pansy’s flat was located before going their separate ways.

One Friday night, after too many times of this to count, Pansy stopped at the intersection of her street and looked at Hermione thoughtfully.

“Do you live far?” she asked.

“A mile perhaps,” Hermione said.

“Would you like to come inside? You can Apparate from my flat.”

Hermione thought about saying no — she felt comfortable around Pansy, even friendly if she was honest with herself, but going into her flat? That seemed like a level of intimacy she wasn’t quite ready for — but the weather was particularly cold and small flakes of snow were beginning to fall from the sky. Even with her warmth spells, she was beginning to feel a little chilled.

“Thank you for the offer,” she found herself saying. “I’d love to.”

She followed Pansy past the few Muggle houses that lined the front of the block before stopping in front of the magical building. 

“The Tower” it pronounced itself, even though it was no taller than maybe four levels. A soft light shone from the doorway and Hermione could make out what looked like a complicated locking system.

They walked up the short path to the front door, and Pansy took out her wand, touching the tip to various numbers until a soft click was heard, and the door swing inward, revealing a dim but standard hallway — light brown carpet, white walls, doors here and there along it, all with bold numbers on them proclaiming what unit it was. At the back of the hall was a staircase leading to the upper levels.

“I’m on the third floor,” Pansy said, leading Hermione to the staircase and upward.

Pansy’s flat was in stark contrast to the hallway and to the front of the building. When Pansy opened her door and they stepped inside, Hermione found herself bathed in a warm light from candles floating in the air above their heads. The walls inside were a soft green, the furniture plump and grey. A bookshelf was stuffed full of enough books to keep Hermione happy for at least a week, and photos of various London landmarks — filled with tiny people posing in front of them — hung on the walls.

Off to the right, Hermione could just make out an entrance to a kitchen. She could see a tall grey table with mugs sitting on top of it.

She turned her head back to the living room and ended up staring Pansy right in the eyes. 

She looked away quickly, almost uncomfortable at the piercing gaze.

“Your flat’s really nice,” she said, trying to look anywhere than at Pansy.

“Thank you,” Pansy said. “I know it’s a lot of green and silver …”

“No, I like it,” Hermione said. “It works. Red and gold as a colour scheme? Not so much.”

Pansy laughed, soft and gentle. “Would you like some tea before you head back?”

Some part of Hermione desperately wanted to say yes, wanted to walk into Pansy’s kitchen and take a seat at her table and sit there with her for a few more hours.

“I really need to go,” she said instead.

Pansy nodded, but for a second, Hermione thought she saw something flicker across her face. Disappointment? Or just her imagination?

Suddenly, Hermione had to get out there — out of this place that was so Pansy and so cosy and so warm and so inviting, away from the woman who was standing beside her who was making her want to stay.

“Thanks again for letting me Apparate. I’ll see you Monday at the usual time, yes?”

“Yes, of course. Have a good weekend, Hermione.”

“You, too.”

Hermione barely managed a nod before she slipped out the door, pulling it closed behind her. Back in the hall, she took a deep breath. What in Merlin’s name was wrong with her?

She Apparated home, not sure she wanted to know.

\--

“Something’s really wrong with me,” Hermione said. It was not even twenty-four hours after her undignified exit from Pansy’s flat. She and Ginny and Luna were eating dinner at a small diner down the street from the flat the two of them shared when Ginny wasn’t traveling with her Quidditch team.

“Why, because you like working with Pansy Parkinson?” Ginny asked, stuffing a handful of chips in her mouth. Hermione had been telling them about working with Pansy and all the hours they were spending together.

“I don’t just like working with her, though,” Hermione moaned. “I think I like her.”

“Oh, how delightful,” Luna said, clapping her hands.

“But this is Pansy Parkinson,” Hermione reminded her. “The girl who called me ugly and said horrible things about me and tried her best to make my life at Hogwarts a living hell.”

“That was more than five years ago,” Ginny said. “You said it yourself. People change.”

“But do they change that much?”

“You tell us,” Luna said. “You said you have been working closely with her for four months. Do you think she is secretly a narninoo?”

“A what?”

“A narninoo,” Luna said. “A creature that curses its victims before it kills them.”

Hermione saw Ginny hide a smile and then a giggle with another mouthful of chips.

“No,” Hermione said. “Of course not.”

“You said she hasn’t been anything but professional,” Ginny cut in, before Luna could tell them more about narninoos.

“She hasn’t.”

“And she couldn’t go a day back at Hogwarts without being nasty to you. Do you think she could really hide it for this long just so she could, what? Embarrass you at your gala? By what? Calling you ugly? Taking credit for your work?”

Hermione bit her lip. She actually hadn’t thought of that. But would Pansy do that? Try to claim credit? To what end? Was she somehow so ambitious that she had set this whole thing up?

Somehow Hermione didn’t think so. Why go through so much work then? It’s not like they weren’t seen together all the time. And what would the point of meeting at the pub be or inviting her to her flat just to turn on her later? To hurt her more?

Well, Hermione supposed, she couldn’t very well rule that out. Pansy Parkinson was more than capable of doing what she needed to do to get back at someone. But why would she do it? Just because they didn’t get along at Hogwarts when they were kids?

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered miserably. “Maybe I should be more careful.”

“Or maybe you should trust your instincts,” Luna said.

Hermione sighed. Luna did have a point, but again, didn’t she need to consider who she was dealing with?

“Maybe I just need to keep it more professional,” she said. “No more meetings at the pub. No more walking home with her.”

“Are you doing anything now that crosses some line?” Ginny asked.

“Of course not,” Hermione said. She didn’t add that she wanted to, though. Not all the time, but sometimes. Like when she spotted Pansy’s hand lying on the table and she wanted to reach out and take it. Or when she wanted to brush up against her when they were walking home at night. Or how in her flat, when their eyes met, how part of her wanted to lean in, to touch her lips to hers, to see what she tasted like.

“You don’t think she’s putting a love spell on me, do you?” Hermione suddenly blurted out. “To make me do something inappropriate?”

A chip dropped from Ginny’s hand. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened as she stared at Hermione.

“What?” Hermione said. “Do you?”

“You think you’re _in love_ with Pansy Parkinson?”

“What?” Hermione looked at Ginny and then realized what she had asked. Her face flooded with heat. “No, of course not,” she said quickly. “Just these impulses … nothing serious … no, definitely not … I just thought.”

She trailed off. Ginny picked back up her chip and popped it in her mouth.

“Most likely,” Ginny said, “No. Pansy Parkinson is not casting a juvenile love spell on you to get you to do something embarrassing. But maybe be careful just in case. At least until you’re sure who she really is.”

“And how do I know who she really is?” Hermione said. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling almost helpless. “How do I tell?”

“Trust your instincts,” Ginny said. “Like Luna said.”

“You’re the smartest woman we know,” Luna said. “If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

\--

Monday morning, Hermione found Pansy in their usual spot in the Ministry cafeteria, scrolls and quills laid out in front of her. As Hermione greeted her and sat down, she couldn’t help noticing the curls in Pansy’s hair. Were those new? Were those some way of enticing her?

She forced herself to look at her own scrolls. They had a busy week ahead of them, a lot of important steps. They were going to be working all hours of the nights, she had a feeling.

“I guess we should dive in,” she said right away, before Pansy could ask her about her weekend and they got into a conversation not about work.

“Oh, yes, right,” Pansy said. She seemed almost disappointed, or was it part of her act? “We do have a lot of long nights ahead of us. Our favourite barkeep will probably be seeing us a lot.”

“I was thinking maybe we should just work from here,” Hermione said. 

“From here?” Pansy blinked at her. “Is something wrong?”

“I just think we might need access to a lot of our other materials this week,” Hermione lied. “And who wants to drag them all the way to the pub?”

“Oh. Yeah. That’s a good point.”

“Great,” Hermione said, trying to sound as cheerful as she could. “Then it’s settled.”

“Yeah,” Pansy said, but she didn’t sound nearly as cheerful. “It’s settled.”

\--

Hermione spent the next month doing everything she could to foil any plans Pansy might have for her. She pointedly ignored the way she was curling her hair or wearing blue after Hermione had told her it was her favourite color. She made sure not to get into discussions about favourite books or Wizarding politics when Pansy would bring them up. And she definitely made sure they kept all their meetings out in the public spaces of the Ministry. No pubs and no flats.

But on a Friday afternoon, less than four weeks before the big event, Pansy stopped Hermione from making a clean getaway after their two-hour lunch by pressing a hand to her wrist.

Hermione felt like she was burning, heat emanating from where Pansy’s soft fingers touched her flesh, spreading through her like wildfire. She snatched her hand away. Pansy blinked at her, almost looking bewildered.

“Have I done something wrong?” she asked.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said, still feeling off-balance. The heat was still seeping through her arm, like Pansy’s fingers had left a permanent imprint on it.

“Okay,” Pansy said. “You just seem different lately.”

“I’m just trying to get this gala finished up. We have a lot of eyes watching us.”

“We do. I just want to make sure I didn’t do something to accidentally offend you.”

“Not at all.” She looked up to meet Pansy’s eyes, daring her to say something. But Pansy just shrugged, looking almost sad. 

“Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll see you later. Back here at six?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, but it was almost like something came over her. A spell or a curse. Or a wave of guilt. Or an instinct. Or something. She didn’t know. “Why don’t we go back to our pub?” she said instead. “I think we’re done with all the extra materials by now.”

“You want to go back to the pub?” Was that relief that crossed Pansy’s face or just joy?

“I do.”

“Great,” Pansy said, and she sounded about a hundred times more cheerful. “Then I will see you there.”

Hermione watched her walk off, almost a bounce in her step, her dark hair bobbing.

She hoped she was doing the right thing.

\--

It felt nice to slide into the warm wooden booth across from Pansy. The old witch grinned at them as she brought their food and Firewhiskys, saying she missed seeing her two favourite customers and telling them not to be strangers. 

Hermione took a sip of the familiar liquid, letting it warm her throat on the way down, and wondered if she was being stupid, if maybe her fears had all been justified, if Pansy Parkinson really was just trying to set her up?

But what if she was? What had Hermione done so far to be embarrassed about? She updated the Minister once a week on their project. He knew how hard she was working. How could Pansy take credit? And if she was casting some love spell, what would the point of that be? If Hermione couldn’t control herself and did something unbecoming at the gala, wouldn’t that embarrass Pansy just as much? How would that give her any leverage? Why engage in a practical joke that would paint them both as targets?

Or maybe Hermione was just overthinking and over worried? Maybe Pansy hadn’t been and still wasn’t planning anything nefarious. Maybe she had changed. Maybe she wasn’t a bitter teenage girl anymore. Maybe she did enjoy Hermione’s company as much as Hermione enjoyed hers, and maybe Hermione was throwing away a chance at making a new friend because she was the one stuck in the past, not the woman in front of her.

“I just want to apologize,” Hermione found herself saying. Pansy put down her Firewhisky and looked at her in surprise. “I’ve been doubting you when I shouldn’t have.”

“You doubted me?”

“Not your work,” Hermione said quickly. “I know you’ve been working hard. I just doubted …” She trailed off. What was she thinking? If she told Pansy, it could completely alienate her. But didn’t she owe her an apology? “I’m not used to people being nice to me without wanting something in return.”

Pansy didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between them. Hermione tried not to look away. Maybe her instincts had been right after all …

“I deserve that,” Pansy finally said. Her voice was soft. “I was pretty horrible back at Hogwarts. I gave you no reason to trust me.”

“You gave me no reason not to.”

Pansy shrugged. “I gave you lots of reasons. But hopefully not recently. I like working on this project. I like working with you. I’ve enjoyed these past months more than I would have thought possible.”

“Me too,” Hermione admitted.

“I’m a bit sad we’re so close to the end,” Pansy said. “But we’re so close to making this great.”

“It is going to be great.”

“It is. And I’m glad I got to do it with you.”

Hermione thought about the feel of Pansy’s fingers on hers, the way the warmth had flooded her body. “Me too,” she said. “I’m glad too.”

\--

The last few weeks passed by in a blur. Even when Hermione wasn’t actually working, she was thinking about work. She spent her nights at home going over her lists and making sure every last detail was done to her liking. Her morning tea meetings with Pansy had turned into grabbing a mug and then heading out to the site of the gala.

The castle had been built almost more perfectly than Hermione could have imagined. It shone out of the mist like a beacon to everyone around it. Inside, Pansy and Hermione went from room to room, going over every detail and making sure nothing was misplaced.

The French room, where some of the dancing would be, had a life-sized Eiffel Tower in the middle of it, with the ceiling enchanted to look like stars. Every ten minutes, fireworks would explode, sending a cascade of red and blue and white lights over everything.

The Italian room, where the food would be served, was full of gondolas enchanted to feel like they were floating on the canals. All the finest Italian cuisine would be served, including goblets of the finest wine.

The British room, where the speeches would take place, was designed to feel like those in attendance were in the middle of Parliament.

The other rooms were for dessert, after dinner drinks, places to relax and in general to assure everyone had as good a time as possible.

“I think we’re as ready as we’re going to be,” Pansy said to Hermione the night before the gala. They were standing at the top of the stone steps that led to the door, having just made sure the pathway of fireflies was ready to go.

“I believe you’re right,” Hermione said. “We have come a long way since those initial plans.”

“We sure have.”

Hermione smiled. She was excited for tomorrow, to see the looks on the faces of everyone, to hear their gasps of awe, but another part of her couldn’t help but feel sad that the day after that she would go back to her normal life at the Ministry. And, even though she didn’t like to admit it to herself, she knew she was going to miss Pansy.

A part of her still worried that maybe, somehow, this had all been a long con on Pansy’s part to embarrass her completely the next night in front of all the foreign wizards, but less of her was worried about that than before. Pansy had done nothing to warrant that fear, and the times they had met with other people, she had always given Hermione glowing compliments. This Pansy, the one who was nice and fun and surprisingly creative, was the one Hermione would miss.

The two of them headed down the stone steps together, back to the spot in front of the castle that was designated for all arrivals and departures. Apparition was the transportation of choice, but a few people would be arriving by carriage or broomstick or portkey.

“Well,” Hermione said as she stepped up on to the departure platform. “Tomorrow it is then.” She felt like she should say more, but anything she could think of died in her throat.

“Yes,” Pansy agreed. She, too, paused like she wanted to say more. But a moment later, all she said was, “I’ll see you then.”

And they both Disapparated into the night air, going their separate ways.

\--

Ginny and Luna arrived at Hermione’s flat early in the afternoon the next day. They had all agreed to get ready together. Ginny was invited as part of her Quidditch team, and Luna was her plus one.

Hermione, with Luna’s help, spent hours working on her hair until it shone, straight and full, around her head. Ginny perfected her makeup, more than she normally wore but subtle enough that it wasn’t too obvious. And then she slipped into her floor-length black silk gown that hugged just the right spots and showed off just enough.

“You look gorgeous!” Ginny said, clapping, as Hermione twirled around to show off the look. Ginny looked gorgeous as well, clad in a navy blue strapless dress that fell to just below her knees. Luna’s dress was like looking at the colours of a rainbow come to life, but the gown itself fanned out behind her as she walked, much like the train of a wedding dress.

Ginny grabbed the champagne they had all been sipping on and refilled their glasses. “To the best night ever!” she said.

The three of them clinked their glasses. Hermione felt a ball of nerves and excitement brewing in her stomach. She had a feeling Ginny might be right.

\--

She almost didn’t recognize Pansy when she met her at the door to the castle an hour later. Hermione, Ginny and Luna had headed out early so Hermione and Pansy could take one more trip through the castle, making sure everything was right before all their guests could arrive.

Pansy was waiting on the top of the steps, a strapless red dress with a long flowing skirt accenting her body perfectly. Her hair was piled on top of her head and adorned with a tiara of red jewels. Little strands of red and gold hair peeked out of the dark pile.

Her makeup was perfect —dark eyeliner showing off her eyes and her lips blazing in red that matched her dress. Even her nails were done, Hermione noticed, the same red as her dress and her lips.

She found herself staring at Pansy for a few moments, unable to say anything at all. 

“Do I … do I not look okay?” Pansy asked when Hermione still didn’t speak.

Hermione shook herself, trying to drag her thoughts back to the party, instead of wondering what it might be like to pull Pansy’s dress off of her.

“You look more than okay,” she finally managed. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Pansy beamed, and Hermione felt her heart skip a beat at the look. 

“You look insanely gorgeous as well,” Pansy said, and then she reached out her arm to link with Hermione’s.

Hermione hesitated for just a second, but then she caught Ginny’s eye — Ginny who seemed to be telepathically telling her to go for it — and slipped her own arm through Pansy’s as they headed inside.

They had never really been this close before. Their arms linked together, their hips touching. Hermione felt her whole body shiver and thought she could stay like this the whole night.

But once inside, the sight of waiters and last-minute decorations being strung drew her back to the present, and the women let go of each other, back to business once again.

A half hour later, though, all the rooms had been checked, the important food had been sampled, the cocktails were tasted and Pansy and Hermione were out on the front steps to begin greeting the hundreds upon hundreds of wizards that were about to arrive from all over the wizarding world for a night of celebration.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was first, leading a delegation of important foreign wizards, most whom Hermione recognized from the other festivities and speeches that had been made throughout the week. He stopped before Hermione and Pansy, looking pleased.

“You two have outdone yourselves,” he said fondly. “I can’t wait to see what is inside.”

“We hope it will be an unforgettable evening,” Hermione said. 

“I’m sure it will be.” Kingsley shook each of their hands and then stepped aside, letting them shake hands with all the other wizards, each of them offering compliments as well. Once they had all disappeared inside, a line of wizards had seemed to appear out of nowhere, already stretched down the path back to the arrival area.

The time passed in a blur of hand shaking and pleasantries, ushering everyone inside and wishing them all a splendid evening. Most of their friends were part of the crowd — Harry, Ron, Draco Malfoy, Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott, Parvati and Padma Patil and even some of the now former students Hermione recognized from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang back when the Triwizard Tournament was at Hogwarts.

They also greeted Minerva McGonagall, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Bill and Fleur, George and Angelina and Charlie. Other professors from Hogwarts came up the steps and even Aberforth Dumbledore made an appearance.

It was at the same time exciting and overwhelming and utterly exhausting. 

By the time Hermione and Pansy were left alone on the steps again, the moon had risen high in the sky and the stars were glittering overhead. The fireflies were dancing over the path to the door, illuminating the steps and each other. 

From inside, they could hear chattering and laughing, all evidence of people having a good time and enjoying themselves.

“Should we go inside?” Hermione gestured to the door.

“Not yet,” Pansy said. She pointed to the stone steps as she walked over and sat down. “I just want to appreciate this moment. All that work, and here we are.”

Hermione glanced through the doorway. She knew Kingsley would be expecting them to make the rounds, to make sure everything was going as planned, but she also knew everything was going to plan. They had made sure of it. Didn’t they deserve a small break? Didn’t she deserve one last moment with Pansy?

Her mind made up, she settled on the stoop beside Pansy, leaning back on her hands. Pansy was so close to her, they were almost touching. 

They stared out into the grounds for a little while, a comfortable silence resting between them as they watched the fireflies dance and somewhere above them owls hooted.

Finally, Pansy broke the silence. “I barely even remember what my job was before this project,” she said, almost wistfully. “I’m not sure if I’ll know what to do with myself come Monday.”

Hermione let out a soft peel of laughter. “Same,” she said. “I think there was some boring paperwork or something.”

Pansy laughed at that. “Yes, sounds about right.”

She suddenly sat up straight and turned to look directly at Hermione. For some reason, Hermione felt the urge to copy her. They stared at each other for a moment, once again in silence. Pansy looked so intense, so beautiful. Hermione’s eyes dropped down to her bright red lips before she realized Pansy was watching her. She looked away, pretending to be admiring the view, blushing furiously.

“I’m going to miss you,” Pansy said quietly.

Hermione waited a second, trying to force the heat on her cheeks back down into the rest of her body before turning once more to Pansy. “I’m going to miss working with you, too,” she said truthfully.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Hermione frowned. Pansy’s gaze seemed to intensify more, if that were even possible.

“I’m going to miss _you_ ,” Pansy repeated. “All this time together. It’s the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

Hermione blinked. “Yeah?” she said. At Pansy’s nod, she said, “Me too.”

“It’s been hard lately,” Pansy said. “After Draco and I broke up, everyone took his side. I just wanted to get away. But going from being surrounded by people all the time to having people barely even glance my way …” She paused, sighed. “But with you, I’ve had someone to talk to, to spend time with. I barely missed my old life. … I don’t miss my old life, but with you, I didn’t need anything else in this new one.”

Hermione absorbed all that. “I didn’t know any of that,” she said.

“I know.”

“If it helps, I am going to miss you, too,” she said. “You. Not the work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They were so close now, barely an inch apart. Hermione swallowed. Her eyes dropped again to Pansy’s lips, then quickly returned to Pansy’s eyes. They stared at each other. Hermione felt like she was barely breathing.

And then Pansy moved, not much, barely an imperceptible amount, but it was enough. Hermione leaned in, met her halfway, and their lips met. Pansy’s hands came up to sandwich Hermione’s face, her fingers caressing her cheeks, and Hermione wrapped her arms around Pansy’s shoulders.

Their lips continued to move, nipping and sucking. Hermione’s whole body felt warm, and she could feel a spark of action arise between her legs — Pansy’s fingers on her face, touching her hair, Pansy’s lips against hers, Pansy’s tongue darting inside her mouth. It was so much but not enough. She wanted more, needed more.

She pulled back, breathless. 

“The room in the back,” she managed. “Where the staff can change. With the couch.”

Pansy’s eyes lit up. She stood, offering her hand to Hermione.

“Around back,” she said. “No one will see us.”

They slipped down the stairs, hands interlaced, as they hurried alongside the side of the castle. They could see the lights pouring out, could hear the music pounding. Dinner would be starting soon and then the speeches. They had to be around for those. But until then …

The door to the back hallway was unlocked. No one was around, everyone out in the front serving appetizers to guests. They hurried down the short hall and slipped into the room. The couch in front of them was large and white, and the rug it was on was a mix of gray and blue and looked almost as comfortable.

They closed the door behind them, Pansy using her wand to lock it while Hermione cast _muffliato_ everywhere, making sure no one would hear them.

And then they turned to face each other, simultaneously throwing their wands aside. Their lips met again, their hands both on each other’s faces, in each other’s hair. They snogged like their lives depended on it, each kiss deeper and more intense. 

Pansy’s hands found the zipper on Hermione’s dress first, pulling it down her back. They stepped apart as Hermione let it slide down her arms, and then she stepped out of it, clad in her black strapless bra and matching knickers. 

Pansy’s eyes widened as she took her in. “Merlin, you’re gorgeous,” she whispered.

Before Hermione could even figure out what to say, Pansy had grabbed her shoulders, turned her around and pushed her backward. Hermione toppled on to the couch, her legs automatically falling a little apart.

Pansy reached behind her and tugged at the strap of her own dress, letting it fall down her body and crumple into a pile at her feet.

Pansy wasn’t wearing a bra. Hermione took in her breasts, small and firm, her nipples already hard even in the warm air of the room.

Pansy stepped out of her dress, moving over to Hermione, and swiftly settled herself on top of her, her legs on either side of Hermione’s hips. She ducked her head, and they were snogging again, but this time Pansy’s hands were on Hermione’s stomach, touching and exploring. 

Hermione lifted her hands, placing them just below Pansy’s breasts and moving them upward so she could cup them in her hands, kneading them softly. Pansy moaned into Hermione’s mouth, and then Hermione felt Pansy’s hands move and suddenly Pansy was cupping Hermione’s breasts, her thumbs brushing over her nipples.

A shudder ran through Hermione’s body, from her toes to the top of her head, and she groaned. 

“I want you so bad,” she moaned. Pansy moved her mouth away from Hermione’s, sucking at her ear and the underside of her jaw.

“I know,” Pansy said. “I want you just as bad. I have for a long time.”

And then she was moving again, and this time she disappeared completely. Hermione reached out for her, only to realize she had slid to her knees between Hermione’s legs.

“I want to hear you scream for me,” Pansy said quietly.

Hermione could feel her heart pounding. She waited to see what would happen, her body feeling like it was on fire. Her bra was still on, she realized, but pushed up above her breasts, and now Pansy was reaching under her arse and squeezing her carefully.

Hermione moaned as Pansy’s hands touched her, and then Pansy was lifting her up and Hermione felt her knickers sliding down her legs and then disappearing off her feet.

Now she was truly exposed to Pansy.

Pansy shifted, her hands coming up to Hermione’s thighs, pushing her apart, and Hermione obeyed, opening herself up to the woman on the floor in front of her.

And then Pansy was touching her, one of her soft, cool fingers between Hermione’s legs, running through her folds, touching her seemingly everywhere.

Hermione moaned, letting her head fall back on the cushions of the couch as she spread her legs even further apart.

Pansy added a second finger, stroking her, exploring her. She bent her head as she continued her ministrations, kissing Hermione just above her mound.

It felt so good, so delicious, so right.

Hermione moaned again, starting to move her hips in time with Pansy’s fingers, wanting to feel more of her, wanting to feel all of her.

Pansy’s lips trailed down Hermione’s body, finally stopping on Hermione’s clit. Hermione gasped, a keening sort of noise leaving her body as she jerked. And then, there, she felt Pansy’s finger slide into her, and she keened again, her body writhing.

Hermione had had sex before, but it had never felt anywhere close to this. She felt like her whole body was on fire. Pansy’s finger seemed to thrust into the deepest part of her, and she groaned and whinnied as she rocked her hips against her fingers and her mouth.

Pansy added a second finger and it was, at once, both too little and too much. She cried out, only to realize she couldn’t move — Pansy had magicked her body to stop her from writhing — and she cried out again at the realization.

Pansy added a third finger and sucked harder on Hermione’s clit. Hermione closed her eyes, her breath now coming out in shallow pants, all her muscles tightening. All of her senses were focused on the sensations between her legs and the arousal that was growing and growing.

The speed of Pansy’s fingers increased and she sucked harder on Hermione’s clit. Hermione felt her back arch, her nails grip into the material of the couch, and she screamed as finally her climax broke over her, sending waves of pleasure radiating out through her body as she sobbed and shuddered, Pansy still licking at her and fingering her and dragging out the sensations as long as she could.

When Hermione finally came back to herself, she realized that in the time she had been out of it, Pansy had not only gotten Hermione’s bra off, but she had taken off her own knickers and was now holding Hermione’s hand between her own legs, which by the feel of it was already soaking wet.

“I think it’s my turn now,” Pansy whispered when she saw Hermione focus on her, and Hermione grinned. 

“Yeah it is,” she said.

\--

They slipped out of the back room like nothing ever happened. Not a single hair astray. Not a single wrinkle in their evening gowns. They went different directions, slipping easily back into the role of hostess, chatting with their guests and making small talk and making every one of the foreign wizards and witches feel like this evening was designed especially for them.

They stood together by the side of the podiums during the speeches, as professional as ever, listening and clapping and with a smile on their faces. Afterward, they sat at a small table and ate their dessert, looking exactly as one would expect two people who had just spent the past six months working together to look.

No one was any the wiser of what had happened between them.

Hours later, they stood once more on the stone steps, this time to see everyone off and to thank them for coming. Kingsley Shacklebolt and his delegation of wizards thanked them profusely and complimented them on every aspect of the evening.

“I hope you both are able to go home tonight and get some rest,” he said.

“Oh, we will,” Pansy said pleasantly, and only Hermione caught the twinkle in her eye.

They left the clean-up crew with explicit instructions and headed out together, ending up at their normal pub in their normal booth where they split a plate of fish and chips and had a few Firewhiskys.

When the old witch told them it was last call, they paid their tab and walked out the pub, this time their hands entangled once more.

“Would you like to come home with me?” Pansy asked as they walked.

“I would,” Hermione said. “But only on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“That I get to stay.”

“Hmmmm.” Pansy pretended to ponder it. “How long would you like to stay exactly?”

Hermione shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe a few hours. Maybe the whole weekend.”

Pansy bit her lip. “I think I can accommodate the whole weekend,” she said. “But not a few hours. But I have a condition of my own if that happens.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I very much do.”

“And what is that?” Hermione asked. 

“Well, first of all, I would need you to be naked for most of the weekend. Preferably in my bed but the couch would do. And second, I would need you to be willing to have at least two to three orgasms per day. And give me the same in return.”

“Hmmm,” Hermione said. “That’s a steep price.”

“It is.”

“But I think I can handle it.”

“Can you?”

“I can.”

“Good,” Pansy said, and she smiled, a smile that matched the one on Hermione’s face. “Because I think I could get used to this.”

Hermione moved closer to her, leaned her head on her shoulder. 

“Yeah,” she said. “So could I.”


End file.
